"The fault is mine," said Alvarado, stepping between the woman he loved and her infuriated father. "I found Donna Mercedes in the cabinet when I came in. She strove to fly. I detained her—by force. I poured into her ear a tale of my guilty passion. Mine is the fault. She repulsed me. She drove me off."

"The dagger at your feet?"

"She snatched it from me and swore to bury it in her heart unless I left her. I alone am guilty."

He lied instantly and nobly to save the woman's honor.

"Thou villain, thou false friend!" shouted the Viceroy, whipping out his sword.

He was beside himself with fury, but there was a characteristic touch of magnanimity about his next action; so handsome, so splendid, so noble, in spite of his degrading confession, did the young man look, that he gave him a chance.

"Draw your sword, Captain Alvarado, for as I live I shall run you through!"

Alvarado's hand went to his belt, he unclasped it and threw it aside.

"There lies my sword. I am dishonored," he cried. "Strike, and end it all."

"Not so, for Christ's sake!" screamed Mercedes, who had heard as if in a daze. "He hath not told the truth. He hath lied for me. I alone am guilty. I heard him praying here in the still night and I came in, not he. I threw myself into his arms. I begged him to take me away. He spoke of his love and friendship for you, for Don Felipe, his honor, his duty. I did indeed seize the dagger, but because though he loved me he would still be true. On my head be the shame. Honor this gentleman, my father, as I—love him."

She flung herself at her father's feet and caught his hand.

"I love him," she sobbed, "I love him. With all the power, all the intensity, all the pride of the greatest of the de Laras I love him."

"Is this true, Captain Alvarado?"

"Would God she had not said so," answered the young man gloomily.

"Is it true?"

"I can not deny it, my lord, and yet I am the guilty one. I was on the point of yielding. Had you not come in we should have gone away."

"Yet you had refused?"

"I—I—hesitated."

"Refused my daughter! My God!" whispered the old man. "And you, shameless girl, you forced yourself upon him? Threw yourself into his arms?"

"Yes. I loved him. Did'st never love in thine own day, my father? Did'st never feel that life itself were as nothing compared to what beats and throbs here?"

"But Don Felipe?"

"He is a gallant gentleman. I love him not. Oh, sir, for God's sake——"

"Press your daughter no further, Don Alvaro, she is beside herself," gasped out Alvarado hoarsely. "'Tis all my fault. I loved her so deeply that she caught the feeling in her own heart. When I am gone she will forget me. You have raised me from obscurity, you have loaded me with honor, you have given me every opportunity—I will be true. I will be faithful to you. 'Twill be death, but I hope it may come quickly. Misjudge me not, sweet lady. Happiness smiles not upon my passion, sadness marks me for her own. I pray God 'twill be but for a little space. Give me some work to do that I may kill sorrow by losing my life, my lord. And thou, Donna Mercedes, forget me and be happy with Don Felipe."

"Never, never!" cried the girl.

She rose to her feet and came nearer to him. Her father stood by as if stunned. She laid her arms around Alvarado's neck. She looked into her lover's eyes.

"You love me and I love you. What matters anything else?"

"Oh, my lord, my lord!" cried Alvarado, staring at the Viceroy, "kill me, I pray, and end it all!"

"Thou must first kill me," cried Mercedes, extending her arms across her lover's breast.

"Donna Mercedes," said her father, "thou hast put such shame upon the name and fame of de Lara as it hath never borne in five hundred years. Thou hast been betrothed to an honorable gentleman. It is my will that the compact be carried out."

"O my God! my God!" cried the unhappy girl, sinking into a chair. "Wilt Thou permit such things to be?"

"And, Alvarado," went on the old man, not heeding his daughter's piteous prayer. "I know not thy parentage nor to what station thou wert born, but I have marked you from that day when, after Panama, they brought you a baby into my house. I have watched you with pride and joy. Whatever responsibility I have placed before you, you have met it. Whatever demand that hard circumstances have made upon you, you have overcome it. For every test there counts a victory. You have done the State and me great service, none greater than to-night. With such a temptation before thee, that few men that I have come in contact with in my long life could have resisted, you have thrown it aside. You and your honor have been tried and not found wanting. Whatever you may have been I know you now to be the finest thing on God's earth, a Spanish gentleman! Nay, with such evidence of your character I could, were it possible, have set aside the claims of birth and station——"

"Oh, my father, my father!" interrupted the girl joyously.

"And have given you Donna Mercedes to wife."

"Your Excellency——"

"But 'tis too late. The betrothal has been made; the contract signed; my word is passed. In solemn attestation before our Holy Church I have promised to give my daughter to Don Felipe de Tobar. Nothing can be urged against the match——"

"But love," interjected Mercedes; "that is wanting."

"It seems so," returned the Viceroy. "And yet, where duty and honor demand, love is nothing. Donna Mercedes, thou hast broken my heart. That a Spanish gentlewoman should have shown herself so bold! I could punish thee, but thou art mine all. I am an old man. Perhaps there is some excuse in love. I will say no more. I will e'en forgive thee, but I must have your words, both of you, that there shall be no more of this; that no other word of affection for the other shall pass either lip, forever, and that you will be forever silent about the events of this night."

"Speak thou first, Captain Alvarado," said the girl.

"You have loved me," cried the young man, turning toward Donna Mercedes, "and you have trusted me," bowing to the old man. "Here are two appeals. God help me, I can not hesitate. Thou shalt have my word. Would this were the last from my lips."

"And he could promise; he could say it!" wailed the broken-hearted woman. "O my father, he loves me not! I have been blind! I promise thee, on the honor of a de Lara! I have leaned upon a broken reed."

"Never," cried the old man, "hath he loved thee so truly and so grandly as at this moment."

"It may be, it may be," sobbed the girl, reeling as she spoke. "Take me away. 'Tis more than I can bear."

Then she sank prostrate, senseless between the two men who loved her.



CHAPTER XI

WHEREIN CAPTAIN ALVARADO PLEDGES HIS WORD TO THE VICEROY OF VENEZUELA, THE COUNT ALVARO DE LARA, AND TO DON FELIPE DE TOBAR, HIS FRIEND

"We must have assistance," cried the Viceroy in dismay. "Alvarado, do you go and summon——"

"Into the women's apartments, my lord?"

"Nay, I will go. Watch you here. I trust you, you see," answered the old man, promptly running through the window and out on the balcony toward the apartments of his daughter. He went quickly but making no noise, for he did not wish the events of the evening to become public.

Left to himself, Alvarado, resisting the temptation to take the prostrate form of his love in his arms and cover her cold face with kisses, knelt down by her side and began chafing her hands. He thought it no breach of propriety to murmur her name. Indeed he could not keep the words from his lips. Almost instantly the Viceroy departed there was a commotion in the outer hall. There was a knock on the door, repeated once and again, and before Alvarado could determine upon a course of action, Don Felipe burst into the room followed by Senora Agapida, the duenna of Donna Mercedes.

"Your Excellency——" cried the old woman in agitation, "I missed the Senorita. I have searched——"

"But who is this?" interrupted de Tobar, stepping over to where Alvarado still knelt by the prostrate girl. "'Tis not the Viceroy!" He laid his hand on the other man's shoulder and recoiled in surprise.

"Dominique!" he exclaimed. "What do you here and who——"

"Mother of God!" shrieked the duenna. "There lies the Donna Mercedes!"

"She is hurt?" asked Felipe, for the moment his surprise at the presence of Alvarado lost in his anxiety for his betrothal.

"I know not," answered the distracted old woman.

"She lives," said Alvarado, rising to his feet and facing his friend. "She hath but fainted."

"Water!" said Senora Agapida.

Both men started instantly to hand her the carafe that stood on a table near by. Don Felipe was nearer and got it first.

Senora Agapida loosened the dress of the young woman and sprinkled her face and hands with the water, laying her head back upon the floor as she did so and in a moment the girl opened her eyes. In the darkness of the room, for no lamp had as yet been lighted, she had not recognized in her bewilderment who was bending over her, for Alvarado had forced himself to draw back, yielding his place to de Tobar as if by right.

"Alvarado!" she murmured.

"She lives," said Don Felipe, with relief and jealousy mingled in his voice, and then he turned and faced the other.

"And now, Senor Alvarado, perhaps you will be able to explain how you came to be here alone, at this hour of night, with my betrothed, and why she calls thy name! By St. Jago, sir, have you dared to offer violence to this lady?"

His hand went to his sword. To draw it was the work of a moment. He menaced the young soldier with the point.

"I could kill you as you stand there!" he cried in growing rage. "But the memory of our ancient friendship stays my hand. You shall have a chance. Where is your weapon!"

"Strike, if it please you. I want nothing but death," answered Alvarado, making no effort whatever to defend himself.

"Hast deserved it at my hands, then?" exclaimed the now infuriated de Tobar.

"Stay!" interrupted the Viceroy re-entering the room. "What means this assault upon my captain? Donna Mercedes?"

"She revives," said the duenna.

"Is it thou, Senora?" said the Viceroy. "I sought thee unavailingly."

"Your Highness," said the old woman, "I missed the senorita and found her here."

"And how came you unbidden into my private cabinet, Don Felipe?"

"Your Excellency, Senora Agapida found me in the corridor. She was distraught over her lady's absence. We knocked. There was no answer. We entered. I crave your pardon, but it was well I came, for I found my betrothed and my best friend alone, together, here," he pointed gloomily. "A Spanish gentleman alone at this hour of the night with——"

"Silence!" thundered the Viceroy. "Would'st asperse my daughter's name? Darest thou—By heaven, you hold a weapon in your hand. I am old but—Guard thyself!" he called, whipping out his sword with astonishing agility.

"I can not fight with you," said de Tobar lowering his point, "but for God's sake, explain!"

"The Donna Mercedes is as pure as heaven," asserted Alvarado.

"Then why did you bid me strike and stand defenseless a moment since?"

"Because I love her and she is yours."

"Death!" shouted de Tobar. "Take up thy sword!"

"Stay," broke in the old Viceroy quickly, "keep silent, Alvarado, let me tell it all. I am her father. I would consult with the captain upon the journey of the morrow and other matters of state. With us here was my daughter. Is there aught to provoke thy jealousy or rage in this? Overcome by—er—the events of the day she fainted. One of us had to go for aid. 'Twas not meet that the young man should go to the women's apartments, I left them together."

"Alone?" queried de Tobar.

"Ay, alone. One was my daughter, a de Lara, and she was senseless. The other was almost my son, I knew him. He had proved himself. I could trust him."

"Your Excellency, I thank you," cried Alvarado, seizing the hand of the old nobleman and carrying it to his lips.

"You said you loved her," said de Tobar turning to Alvarado.

"And so I do," answered Alvarado, "but who could help it? It is an infection I have caught from my friend."

"Have you spoken words of love to her? Have you pleaded with her? Did you meet here by appoint?"

"Don Felipe," cried Donna Mercedes, who had kept silent at first hardly comprehending and then holding her breath at the denouement. "Hear me. Captain Alvarado's manner to me has been coldness itself. Nay, he scarcely manifested the emotion of a friend."

She spoke with a bitterness and resentment painfully apparent to Alvarado, but which in his bewilderment Don Felipe did not discover.

"I swear to you, senor," she went on cunningly, "until this hour I never heard him say those words, 'I love you.' But this scene is too much for me, I can not bear it. Help me hence. Nay, neither of you gentlemen. With Senora Agapida's aid I can manage. Farewell. When you wish to claim me, Don Felipe, the betrothal shall be carried out and I shall be yours. Good-night."

De Tobar sprang after her and caught her hand, raising it respectfully to his lips.

"Now, senor," he cried turning back, "we can discuss this question unhindered by the presence of the lady. You said you loved her. How dare you, a man of no birth, whose very name is an assumption, lift your eyes so high?"

"This from you, my friend," cried Alvarado, turning whiter than ever at this insult.

"Sir," interposed the voice of the Viceroy, "restrain yourself. 'Tis true we know not the birth or name of this young man whom I have honored with my confidence, upon whom you have bestowed your friendship. Perchance it may be nobler than thine, or mine, perchance not so, but he hath ever shown himself—and I have watched him from his youth—a gentleman, a Spanish gentleman whom all might emulate. You wrong him deeply——"

"But he loved her."

"What of that?" answered the Viceroy.

"Ay," cried Alvarado. "I do love her, and that I make no secret of it from you proves the sincerity of my soul. Who could help loving her, and much less a man in my position, for, in so far as was proper in a maiden, she has been kind to me since I was a boy. I cherish no hopes, no dreams, no ambitions. I locked my passion within my breast and determined to keep it there though it killed me. To-night, with her helpless at my feet, thrown on my pity, it was wrung from me; but I swear to you by my knightly honor, by that friendship that hath subsisted between us of old, that from this hour those words shall never pass my lips again; that from this hour I shall be as silent as before. Oh, trust me! I am sadly torn. Thou hast all, I nothing! If thou canst not trust me—I bade you strike before, strike now and end it all. What supports life when love is denied? Friendship and duty. If these be taken from me, I am poor indeed, and I'd liefer die than live in shame. Your Excellency, bid him strike."

"Thy life is not thine," answered the older man, "it belongs to Spain. We have fallen on evil times and thy country needs thine arm. Thou hast said aright. Senor de Tobar," he cried, "he is thy friend. Take him back to thy affection. I am an old man and a father, but were I young and one so beautiful crossed my path as Donna Mercedes—by Our Lady he hath excuse for anything! He speaks the truth, though it be to his own hurt. Canst stand unmoved, senor, in thy happiness before such misery as that?"

"Dominique, forgive me!" cried de Tobar, "I was wrong. I am ashamed. Thou couldst not help it. I forgive thee. I love thee still."

He made as if to embrace his friend, but Alvarado held him off.

"Wilt trust me fully, absolutely, entirely?"

"With all my life," answered de Tobar.

"Thou shalt be tried," said the Viceroy. "We march toward the Orinoco in three days. I had proposed to establish Donna Mercedes at La Guayra under care of Alvarado."

"Not now, your Excellency," cried the young man.

"Nay, I shall, provided de Tobar is willing."

"A test, a test!" answered that young man. "Gladly do I welcome it. As thou lovest me, and as I love thee, guard thou my betrothed."

"Your Excellency, take me with you to the Orinoco, and let Don Felipe stay at home with Donna Mercedes in La Guayra."

"I am no experienced soldier to command a town," protested de Tobar.

"Nay," said the Viceroy, "it shall be as we have said. Wilt take the charge?"

"Ay, and defend it with all my soul!" answered Alvarado firmly.

"Senor Alvarado and Don Felipe, you have shown yourselves true Spanish gentlemen this night, hidalgos of whom Spain may well be proud," cried the Viceroy in pleased and proud content. "To you, de Tobar, I shall give my daughter with assurance and pride, and were there another to bear my name I could wish no better husband for her than you, my poor friend. Now, the hour is late, I have much to say to Alvarado. Don Felipe, you will pardon me? Good-night."

"Good-night, your Excellency," promptly returned de Tobar. "I shall see you in the morning, Dominique, ere you set forth for La Guayra. I love thee and trust thee, my friend."



CHAPTER XII

SHOWS HOW DONNA MERCEDES CHOSE DEATH RATHER THAN GIVE UP CAPTAIN ALVARADO, AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE ROAD OVER THE MOUNTAINS

They set forth early in the morning. There was a cool freshness in the air from the storm of the day before and if they wished to avoid the necessity of traveling in the heat of the day early departure was necessary. Although the season was summer in a tropic land not far from the equator, the altitude of Caracas lowered the ordinary temperature to an agreeable degree, but after they crossed the pass of La Veta and began the descent toward La Guayra they would be within the confines of one of the hottest localities on the face of the globe.



Early as it was, the Viceroy and his officers, including, of course, de Tobar, were assembled in the patio to bid the travelers godspeed. While de Lara gave a few parting directions to Alvarado, Don Felipe took advantage of the opportunity and of his position as the publicly affianced of Donna Mercedes to address her a few words in farewell, which she received with listless indifference that did not bode well for the future happiness of either of them. The final preparations were soon over. Don Felipe lifted Donna Mercedes to the saddle of her Spanish jennet; some of the other gentlemen assisted the Senora Agapida to the back of the sure-footed mule which she had elected as her mount; Alvarado saluted and sprang to the back of his mettlesome barb, and, followed by a half-dozen troopers who constituted the escort, the rear being brought up by servants with pack mules carrying the personal baggage of the two ladies, the little cavalcade moved off, the gentlemen in the Viceroy's suite standing bareheaded in the doorway as they disappeared under the trees and began the ascent toward the pass.

With the whispered assurance of his friend, "I trust you," still ringing in his ear, with the sound of the Viceroy's stern voice, "I know not what danger could befall my child in this peaceful time, but I have a premonition that something threatens, and I charge you to guard her welfare and happiness with your life," still fresh in his mind, Alvarado, whose white, haggard face showed that he had passed a sleepless night, rode at the head of the column. Some distance in front of him rode a trooper, for there were even then thieves, wandering bands of masterless men who levied bloody toll on travelers from the capitol whenever they got opportunity. Next to the captain came the sergeant of the little guard, then the two women, followed closely by two more of the soldiers, after that the little pack train, which he had ordered to close up and keep in touch after they left the city, and, last of all, the two remaining soldiers to bring up the rear.

The soldiers, servants, and muleteers were in high spirits. There was little danger to be apprehended, for the party was too strong to fear attack from any of the brigand bodies, and the military order of march was taken more as a matter of habit than from any special need. The day was pleasant, the scenery, though familiar, was at the same time grand and beautiful, and they were happy—all, that is, except Donna Mercedes, the duenna, and Alvarado.

The worthy Senora Agapida with womanly shrewdness more than suspected the true state of affairs. Indeed, Mercedes, who loved the old woman, who had been as a mother to her, her own mother having died when she was a mere child, had scarcely taken the trouble to conceal her misery, and the old woman's heart was wrung whenever she looked at the drooping figure at her side. She would fain have brought the flush of happiness to the face of the girl she loved, by throwing her into the arms of Alvarado; but, as a distant connection of the de Laras herself, the worthy dame had her own notions of pride, and her honor would not permit her to do anything for which the Viceroy could properly fault her. The ancient duenna was an indifferent horsewoman, too, and although she had the easiest and surest footed beast of the party she journeyed with many sighs and groans of dissatisfaction. She bravely made an effort at first to cheer up her charge, but soon perceived that the task was beyond her powers, so she rode along in a silence unbroken save by her frequent ejaculations.

When Mercedes had met Alvarado early in the morning she had acknowledged his profound salutation with the curtest and coldest of nods. She was furiously and bitterly angry with him; for, between duty, honor, friendship, and her love, he had not chosen her. She knew that he loved her. She had known it a long time, and, if she had the slightest doubt, the sincerity with which he had spoken the night before, the fierce, passionate fervor of the kisses that he had pressed upon her lips, his utter abandonment to his passion, had more than satisfied her. Yet, when she had offered to throw everything to the winds—love, duty, obedience, if he would only take her away—he had hesitated. With her, a woman who had all Venezuela at her feet, held in his arms, he had repulsed her, refused her! He had heard the open confession of her overwhelming love for him, and he had resisted her! With the feel of her heart beating against his own, he had strained her to his breast and prated of honor and duty!

She was mad with anger and disappointment. She loathed him; she hated him; she raged against him in her heart. Why had he not killed de Tobar where he stood, seized her in his arms, braved the anger of her father, and galloped away—anywhere out into the mysterious southland where they could be together? Well and good, she would marry Don Felipe. She would assume a happiness that she could not feel and kill him with the sight of it. He had disdained her; he should suffer, suffer in proportion to his love, such torments as he had made her suffer last night—shame, disappointment, indignation.

She had not slept the entire night, either, thinking these things, yet it had not all been pain. How nobly he had lied to save her! He, to whom a lie was worse than death. He had tried to assume dishonor for her sake. He loved her; yes, there was no doubt of it. She closed her eyes with the thought and her whole being was filled with exquisite anguish. He loved her, he was made for her, yet when he might have taken her he refused. De Tobar was indeed a brave and gallant gentleman, but his qualities were as moonlight to the sunlight compared to those of Alvarado. In spite of herself, though the mere suggestion of it angered her, she found herself obliged to grant that there was something noble in that position he had assumed which so filled her with fury. It was not, with him, a question of loving duty and honor more than herself, but it was a question of doing duty and preserving honor, though the heart broke and the soul was rent in the effort.

Because he had the strength to do these things, not to betray his friend, not to return ingratitude to her father, who had been a father to him too, not to be false to his military honor; because he had the strength to control himself, she felt dimly how strong his passion might be. In spite of her careful avoidance of his eyes, her cold demeanor, that morning, she had marked the haggard, pale face of the young soldier to whom she had given her heart, which showed that he, too, had suffered. She watched him as he rode, superb horseman that he was, at the head of the little cavalcade. Tall, straight, erect, graceful, she was glad that he rode in advance with his back to her, so that she might follow him with her eyes, her gaze unheeded by any but Senora Agapida, and for her she did not care.

As he turned at intervals to survey his charges, to see that all were keeping closed up and in order, by furtive glances she could mark with exultation the pallor that had taken the place of the ruddy hue on the fair cheek of her lover. She could even note the black circles under the blue eyes beneath the sunny hair, so different from her own midnight crown.

How this man loved her! She could see, and know, and feel. Great as was her own passion, it did not outweigh his feeling. A tempest was raging in his bosom. The girl who watched him could mark the progress of the storm in the deeps of his soul, for his face told the tale of it.

And, indeed, his thoughts were bitter. What must she think of him? He had been a fool. Happiness had been his for the taking, and he had thrown it away. Why had he not brushed de Tobar out of his path, silenced the Viceroy—no, not by death, but by binding him fast, and then taken the woman he loved and who loved him, for she had proved it by her utter abandonment of herself to him? Those old soldiers who had served him for many years would have followed him wherever he led. The Viceroy's arm was long, but they could have found a haven where they could have been together. God had made them for each other and he had refused. He had thrust her aside. He had pushed the cup of happiness from his own lips with his own hand.

Honor was a name, duty an abstraction, gratitude a folly. What must she think of him? There had been no reservation in her declaration of affection. For him she was willing to give up all, and though he had vowed and protested in his heart that there was nothing she could ask of him that he would not grant her, he had been able to do nothing after all.

He wished it was all to do over again. Now it was too late. To the chains of duty, honor, gratitude, had been added that of his plighted word. Knowing his love, de Tobar, his friend, had trusted him. Knowing his daughter's love, the Viceroy had also trusted him. He was locked with fetters, bound and sealed, helpless. And yet the temptation grew with each hour. He had suspected, he had dreamed, he had hoped, that Mercedes loved him, now he was sure of it. Oh, what happiness might have been his!

What was this mystery about his birth? He had been picked up a baby in a deserted village outside of Panama. He had been found by the young Count de Lara, who had led his troops to the succor of that doomed town, which, unfortunately, he had only reached after the buccaneers had departed. Search had been made for his parents but without success. The Viceroy finding none to claim the bright-faced baby, had given him a name and had caused him to be brought up in his own household. There was nothing in his apparel to distinguish him save the exquisite fineness and richness of the material. Thrown around his neck had been a curiously wrought silver crucifix on a silver chain, and that crucifix he had worn ever since. It lay upon his breast beneath his clothing now. It was the sole object which connected him with his past.

Who had been his father, his mother? How had a baby so richly dressed come to be abandoned in a small obscure village outside the walls of Panama, which would have escaped the ravages of the buccaneers on account of its insignificance, had it not lain directly in their backward path. They had destroyed it out of mere wantonness.

And there was another thought which often came to him and caused his cheeks to burn with horror. If, as his clothing had indicated, he had been the child of wealth, did not his obscure position indicate that he was at the same time the child of shame?

Since he had reached man's estate he had thought of these things often and had prayed that in some way, at some time, the mystery might be solved, for the suspense was worse than any assurance, however dreadful. He had often thought with longing upon his father, his mother. This morning in the bitterness of his heart he cursed them for the situation in which he found himself. He despaired at last of ever finding out anything. What mattered it now? He might be of the proudest and most honorable lineage in New Spain, a Soto-Mayor, a Bobadilla, even a de Guzman. It would advantage him nothing since he had lost Mercedes. In spite of himself he groaned aloud, and the girl riding a little distance behind him heard the sound of anguish in his voice.

Her heart, which had been yearning toward him with increasing force, was stirred within her bosom.

"Ride thou here," she said suddenly to Senora Agapida, "I go forward to speak with Captain Alvarado."

"But, senorita, thy father——"

"Is it not permitted that I speak with the captain of the soldiery who escort me?"

"Certainly, if I am by."

"I do not choose to have it so," replied Mercedes, with all the haughtiness of her father. "Remain here. I will return presently."

Brushing her aside with an imperious wave of her hand and a threatening glance before which the poor duenna quailed, for her charge had never shown such spirit before, Mercedes struck her Spanish jennet with the whip she carried, passed around the intervening soldier, who courteously gave way to her, and reined in her steed by Alvarado's horse. So close, indeed, was she to the captain that she almost touched him. It was good to see the light leap in his eyes, the flush come into his pale cheek as he became aware of her presence.

"Donna Mercedes!" he cried in surprise. "Is anything wrong? Where is the Senora Agapida?"

"Nothing is wrong. I left her there."

"Shall I summon her?"

"Art afraid to speak to me, to a woman, alone, sir captain?"

"Nay, senorita, but 'tis unseemly——"

"Wouldst thou lesson me in manners, master soldier?" cried the girl haughtily.

"God forbid, lady, but thy father——"

"He laid no injunction upon me that I should not speak to you, sir. Is that forbidden?"

"Of course not, but——"

"But what, sir? It is your own weakness you fear? You were strong enough last night. Have you, by chance—repented?"

There was such a passionate eagerness in her voice, and such a leaping hope for an affirmative answer in the glance she bent upon him, that he could scarce sustain the shock of it. His whole soul had risen to meet hers, coming as she came. He trembled at her propinquity. The voice of the girl thrilled him as never before.

The sergeant who followed them, out of respect for their confidences checked the pace of his troop horse somewhat and the two advanced some distance from him out of earshot. The unhappy duenna watched them with anxious eyes, but hesitated to attempt to join them. Indeed, the way was blocked for such an indifferent horsewoman as she by the adroit manoeuvres of the sergeant. He was devoted to his young commander and he had surmised the state of affairs also. He would have had no scruples whatever in facilitating a meeting, even an elopement. The two lovers, therefore, could speak unobserved, or at least unheard by any stranger.

"Lady," said Alvarado at last, "I am indeed afraid. You make the strong, weak. Your beauty—forgive me—masters me. For God's sake, for Christ, His Mother, tempt me not! I can stand no more—" he burst forth with vehemence.

"What troubles thee, Alvarado?" she said softly.

"Thou—and my plighted word."

"You chose honor and duty last night when you might have had me. Art still in the same mind?"

"Senorita, this subject is forbidden."

"Stop!" cried the girl, "I absolve you from all injunctions of silence. I, too, am a de Lara, and in my father's absence the head of the house. The duty thou hast sworn to him thou owest me. Art still in the same mind as last night, I say?"

"Last night I was a fool!"

"And this morning?"

"I am a slave."

"A slave to what? To whom?"

"Donna Mercedes," he cried, turning an imploring glance upon her, "press me no further. Indeed, the burden is greater than I can bear."

"A slave to whom?" she went on insistently, seeing an advantage and pressing it hard. She was determined that she would have an answer. No conviction of duty or feeling of filial regard was strong enough to overwhelm love in this woman's heart. As she spoke she flashed upon him her most brilliant glance and by a deft movement of her bridle hand swerved the jennet in closer to his barb. She laid her hand upon his strong arm and bent her head close toward him. They were far from the others now and the turns of the winding road concealed them.

"A slave to whom? Perhaps to—me?" she whispered.

"Have mercy on me!" he cried. "To you? Yes. But honor, duty——"

"Again those hateful words!" she interrupted, her dark face flushing with anger. "Were I a man, loved I a woman who loved me as I—as I—as one you know, I would have seized her in spite of all the world! Once she had fled to the shelter of my arms, while life beat in my heart none should tear her thence."

"Thy father——"

"He thinks not of my happiness."

"Say not so, Donna Mercedes."

"'Tis true. It is a matter of convenient arrangement. Two ancient names, two great fortunes cry aloud for union and they drown the voice of the heart. I am bestowed like a chattel."

"Don Felipe——"

"Is an honorable gentleman, a brave one. He needs no defense at my hands. That much, at least, my father did. There is no objection to my suitor save that I do not love him."

"In time—in time you may," gasped Alvarado.

"Dost thou look within thine own heart and see a fancy so evanescent that thou speakest thus to me?"

"Nay, not so."

"I believe thee, and were a thousand years to roll over my head thine image would still be found here."

She laid her tiny gloved hand upon her breast as she spoke in a low voice, and this time she looked away from him. He would have given heaven and earth to have caught her yielding figure in his arms. She drooped in the saddle beside him in a pose which was a confession of womanly weakness and she swayed toward him as if the heart in her body cried out to that which beat in his own breast.

"Mercedes! Mercedes!" he said, "you torture me beyond endurance! Go back to your duenna, to Senora Agapida, I beg of you! I can stand no more! I did promise and vow in my heart—my honor—my duty——"

"Ay, with men it is different," said the girl, and the sound of a sob in her voice cut him to the heart, "and these things are above love, above everything. I do not—I can not understand. I can not comprehend. You have rejected me—I have offered myself to you a second time—after the refusal of last night. Where is my Spanish pride? Where is my maidenly modesty? That reserve that should be the better part of woman is gone. I know not honor—duty—I only know that though you reject me, I am yours. I, too, am a slave. I love you. Nay, I can not marry Don Felipe de Tobar. 'Twere to make a sacrilege of a sacrament."



"Thy father——"

"I have done my best to obey him. I can no more."

"What wilt thou do?"

"This!" cried the girl desperately.

The road at the point they had arrived wound sharply around the spur of the mountain which rose above them thousands of feet on one side and fell abruptly away in a terrific precipice upon the other. As she spoke she struck her horse again with the whip. At the same time by a violent wrench on the bridle rein she turned him swiftly toward the open cliff. Quick as she had been, however, Alvarado's own movement was quicker. He struck spur into his powerful barb and with a single bound was by her side, in the very nick of time. Her horse's forefeet were slipping among the loose stones on the edge. In another second they would both be over. Alvarado threw his right arm around her and with a force superhuman dragged her from the saddle, at the same time forcing his own horse violently backward with his bridle hand. His instant promptness had saved her, for the frightened horse she rode, unable to control himself, plunged down the cliff and was crushed to death a thousand feet below.



CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH CAPTAIN ALVARADO IS FORSWORN AND WITH DONNA MERCEDES IN HIS ARMS BREAKS HIS PLIGHTED WORD

"My God!" cried the young soldier hoarsely, straining her to his breast, while endeavoring to calm his nervous and excited horse. "What would you have done?"



"Why didn't you let me go?" she asked, struggling feebly in his arms. "It would all have been over then."

"I could not, I love you."

The words were wrung from him in spite of himself by her deadly peril, by her desperate design which he had only frustrated by superhuman quickness and strength. He was pale, shaking, trembling, unnerved, for her. He scarce knew what he said or did, so little command had he over himself.

As he spoke those words "I love you," so blissful for her to hear, she slipped her arm around his neck. It was not in mortal man to resist under such circumstances. He forgot everything—honor, duty, his word, everything he threw to the winds. Before the passion which sought death when denied him his own powers of resistance vanished. He strained her to his breast and bent his head to kiss her. Again and again he drank at the upturned fountain of affection, her lips. The shock had been too much for him. Greater for him than for her. He had seen her upon the verge of eternity. She thought nothing of that in her present joy. She only realized that she was in his arms again, that he had kissed her, and between the kisses he poured out words that were even greater caresses.

The others were far behind. They were alone upon the mountain-side with the rocks behind and the great sapphire sea of the Caribbean before them. He held her close to his breast and they forgot everything but love as they gently pricked along the road. It was near noon now, and as the road a furlong farther debouched into an open plateau shaded by trees and watered by a running brook which purled down the mountain-side from some inaccessible cloud-swept height it was a fitting place to make camp, where the whole party, tired by a long morning's travel, could repose themselves until the breeze of afternoon tempered the heat of the day. Here he dismounted, lifted her from horse, and they stood together, side by side.

"You have saved me," she whispered, "you have drawn me back from the death that I sought. God has given me to you. We shall never be parted."

"I am a false friend, an ungrateful servitor, a forsworn man, a perjured soldier!" he groaned, passing his hand over his pale brow as if to brush away the idea consequent upon his words.

"But thou hast my love," she whispered tenderly, swaying toward him again.

"Yes—yes. Would that it could crown something else than my dishonor."

"Say not so."

She kissed him again, fain to dispel the shadow that darkened his face.

"I had been faithful," he went on, as if in justification, "had I not seen thee on the brink of that cliff, and then thou wert in my arms—I was lost——"

"And I was found. I leaped to death. I shut my eyes as I drove the horse toward the cliff, and I awakened to find myself in your arms—in heaven! Let nothing take me hence."

"It can not be," he said, "I must go to the Viceroy when he returns from the Orinoco war, and tell him that I have betrayed him."

"I will tell him," she answered, "or wilt thou tell him what I tell thee?" she went on.

"Surely."

"Then say to him that I sought death rather than be given to Don Felipe or to any one else. Tell him you saved me on the very brink of the cliff, and that never soldier made a better fight for field or flag than thou didst make for thy honor and duty, but that I broke thee down. I had the power, and I used it. The story is as old as Eden—the woman tempted—"

"I should have been stronger—I should not have weakened. But I shall fight no more—it is all over."

"Ah, thou canst not," she whispered, nestling closer to him. "And tell my father that should harm come to thee, if, in their anger, he or de Tobar lay hand upon thee, it will not advantage their plans, for I swear, if there be no other way, I will starve myself to death to follow thee!"

"I can not shelter myself behind a woman."

"Then I will tell them both myself," she cried. "You shall know, they shall know, how a Spanish woman can love."

"And thou shalt know, too," answered Alvarado firmly, "that though I break my heart, I, an unknown, can expatiate his guilt with all the pride of most ancient lineage and birth highest of them all."

It was a brave speech, but he did not release his hold upon Mercedes and in spite of his words when, confident that whatever he might say, however he might struggle, he was hers at last, she smiled up at him again, he kissed her.

"When go you to my father, Senor Alvarado?" she asked.

"When he returns from the Orinoco."

"And that will not be until——"

"Perhaps a month."

"Wilt love me until then?"

"I shall love thee forever."

"Nay, but wilt thou tell me so, with every day, every week, every hour, every moment, with kisses like to these?"

"Oh, tempt me not!" he whispered; but he returned again and again her caresses.

"Ah, my Alvarado, if you have once fallen, what then? Is not one kiss as bad as a thousand?"

"Be it so; we will be happy until that time."

"One month, one month of heaven, my love, after that let come what may," she answered, her cheeks and eyes aflame, her heart throbbing with exquisite pain in her breast. They would enjoy the day, the future could take care of itself.

"Some one approaches!" he said at last, and at the same moment the rest of the party came around the bend of the road. The poor duenna was consumed with anxiety and remorse.

"Bernardo," said Alvarado to the sergeant, "we will take our siesta here. Unsaddle the horses and prepare the noon-day meal under the trees. Send one of the troopers ahead to bid Fadrique stop on the road until we rejoin him, keeping good guard. Senora Agapida, you must be tired from the long ride. Let me assist you to dismount."

"The Senorita Mercedes!" she asked, as he lifted her to the ground. "Where is her horse?"

"He slipped and fell," answered the girl promptly.

"Fell? Madre de Dios!"

"Yes, over the cliff. Captain Alvarado lifted me from the saddle just in time."

"I shall make a novena of devotion to St. Jago for thy preservation, sweet Mercedes," cried the duenna, "and you, young sir, must have a strong arm——"

"It is ever at your service," answered Alvarado gravely, bowing before her.

The old woman's heart went out to the gallant young man, so handsome, so brave, so strong, so distinguished looking.

"Why," she mused under her breath, "could he not have been the one?"

By this time the little place was filled with soldiers, attendants, and muleteers. Some kindled fires, others unpacked hampers loaded with provisions, others prepared a place where the party might rest, and as, to restore order out of this confusion, Alvarado turned hither and thither he was followed in all his movements by the lovely eyes of the woman who had broken him, and who had won him.

During the interval of repose the young man allowed his party the two lovers were constantly together. Alvarado had made a faint effort to go apart and leave Mercedes to herself, but with passionate determination she had refused to allow it. She had thrown prudence to the winds. Careless of whoever might see, of whoever might comment, heedless of the reproving duenna, indifferent to ancient practice, reckless of curious glances, she had insisted upon accompanying the captain and he had yielded. He was doomed in his own soul to death. He intended to tell the Viceroy and de Tobar everything, and he had no doubt that one or the other would instantly kill him. It was a fate to which he would make no resistance. Meanwhile he would enjoy the day. There was a melancholy pleasure, too, in the thought, for this morning had assured him of it, that whatever awaited him Mercedes would belong to no one else. If they killed him she had sworn that she would not survive him. If they strove to force her into the arms of another, she had declared she would die rather than comply, and he believed her.

Other women in like circumstances might have resorted to a convent, but Mercedes was not of the temperament which makes that calm harbor an inviting refuge. If she could not have Alvarado, she would simply die—that was all. Under the circumstances, therefore, as he had already forfeited his own esteem, he hesitated no more. Indeed, before the passion of the woman he loved, who loved him, it was not possible. In her presence he could do nothing else. They abandoned themselves with all the fervor of youth and passion to their transports of affection. They wandered away from the others and by the side of the brook beneath the shelter of the trees remained together and whispered all the love that beat within their freed breasts. They might die to-morrow, to-day they lived and loved. Fain would they have prolonged the Elysian dream forever, but the descending sun of the afternoon at last warned Alvarado, if they would reach La Guayra that night, that they must resume their journey. Reluctantly he gave the order to mount.

This time, utterly indifferent to the Senora Agapida, Mercedes, mounted on one of the led horses, rode openly by Alvarado's side. Sustained by his presence, constantly in touch with him, she made the way down the difficult wanderings of the rocky mountain trail. They watched the sun set in all its glory over the tropic sea. The evening breeze blew softly about them riding side by side. Then the night fell upon them. Over them blazed the glorious canopy of the tropic stars, chief among them the fiery Southern Cross, emblem of the faith they cherished, the most marvelous diadem in the heavens. There below them twinkled the lights of La Guayra. The road grew broader and smoother now. It was almost at the level of the beach. They would have to pass through the town presently, and thence up a steep rocky road which wound around the mountain until they surmounted the cliff back of the city and arrived at the palace of the Governor upon the hillside, where Mercedes was to lodge. An hour, at least, would bring them to their destination now. There was nothing to apprehend. The brigands in the fastnesses of the mountains or the savages, who sometimes strayed along the road, never ventured so near the town.

Fadrique, by Alvarado's orders, had fallen back nearer the main body so as to be within call.

"We shall be there in a little while. See yonder, the lights of the town," said the captain.

"While thou art with me," said the girl, "it matters little where we are. There are but two places in the world now——"

"And those are——?"

"Where thou art and where thou art not. If I may only be with thee, if we may be together, I want nothing else."

She had scarcely spoken before the sound of a cry followed by a shot broke on the night.



BOOK IV

IN WHICH IS RELATED AN ACCOUNT OF THE TAKING OF LA GUAYRA BY THE BUCCANEERS AND THE DREADFUL PERILS OF DONNA MERCEDES DE LARA AND CAPTAIN ALVARADO IN THAT CITY



CHAPTER XIV

WHEREIN THE CREW OF THE GALLEON INTERCEPTS THE TWO LOVERS BY THE WAY

The terrific impact of the huge ship on the sand among the breakers which thundered and beat upon her sides with overwhelming force came just in the nick of time for Morgan. Had the disaster been delayed a second longer the furious buccaneers would have cut him down where he stood. Even the officers were angered beyond measure at him for their present situation, which threatened the loss of the vast treasure already gained in the ship, although they had consented to Morgan's proposition to attack La Guayra and Caracas, and the captain was in no way responsible for the storm and the wreck which jeoparded their booty and their future. Therefore it is probable that none of them, unless it were Teach, would have interfered to save Morgan, and he would have been swept from his feet by the savage men and instantly killed, in spite of all that he, or Carib, or any one else could have done. But the violence of the shock when the ship took ground threw them to the deck, and they forgot for the instant their bloody purpose of vengeance in the inevitableness of their approaching danger; they were checked in their mad anger for a few seconds and given a moment for reflection, that moment convinced them that they could not yet dispense with the services of their captain. With black rage and white fear striving for mastery in their hearts, they rose to their feet and faced him with menacing faces and threatening gestures.

"What's to be done now?" questioned one bolder than the rest.

"Now's the time," roared the undaunted Morgan, striving to make himself heard by all above the thundering seas, "to show your courage, lads!"

He had quickly observed that the force with which she had been driven on the shoals had shoved the galleon's nose firmly in the sand. She had been caught just before she took ground by a tremendous roller and had been lifted up and hurled far over to starboard. Although almost on her beam ends, her decks inclining landward, the strongly-built ship held steady in spite of the tremendous onslaughts of the seas along her bilge.

"Take heart, men!" he cried. "Observe. She lies still and secure. 'Tis a stout hulk and will take a tremendous battering before she breaks. We may yet save ourselves."

"And the treasure?" roared one.

"Ay, and the treasure."

"I think the storm has about blown itself out," interposed old Hornigold, shouting out at this instant. "Look you, mates," he cried, pointing to westward, "it clears! The sun'll set fair to-night."

"The bo's'n is right," cried Morgan. "But first of all we must take no chances with our lives. Even though we lose the ship we can seize another. The world is full of treasure and we can find it. Now I want some one to carry a line ashore through the breakers. Who will volunteer?"

"I," said Carib instantly.

"I need you here," answered Morgan, who did not purpose to be deprived of that bodyguard upon whose watchfulness his life had so often depended.

"I'll go," exclaimed young Teach, breaking through the crowd.

"That's a brave heart!" said Morgan. "A line here!"

Instantly a light line was forthcoming. Teach tore off his jacket, laid aside his weapons, kicked off his shoes, took a turn of the line around his waist, made it fast, wrung Morgan's hand, watched his chance, leaped overboard, was caught by an onrushing wave and carried far toward the shore. The ebb of the roller carried him back seaward some distance, but he swam forward madly, and the next wave brought him a little nearer the beach. He was driven backward and forward, but each time managed to get a little nearer the shore line.

The whole ship's company stared after him, spontaneously cheering and yelling cries of encouragement in spite of the fact that he could not hear a single sound in the roaring, raging seas. Morgan himself tended the line, skilfully paying it out when necessary. In a few moments, although the time seemed hours to the watchers, the feet of Teach touched the shore, and although the terrific undertow of the wave that had dropped him there almost bore him back again, yet by a superhuman exertion he managed to stagger forward, and the next moment they saw him fall prostrate on the sand.

Had he fainted or given way? They looked at him with bated breath but after a little space they saw him rise slowly to his feet and stagger inland toward a low point where a lofty palm tree was writhing and twisting in the fierce wind. He was too good a seaman not instantly to see what was required of him, for, waving his hand toward the ship he at once began to haul in the line. Ready hands had bent a larger rope to it, which was succeeded by a third, strong enough to bear a man's weight. The buccaneer hauled this last in with great difficulty, for the distance was far and the wet rope was heavy. He climbed up and made it fast to the tree and then waited. As soon as he had done so there was a rush on the ship for the line which had been made fast inboard temporarily. Morgan, however, interposed between the crew and the coveted way to safety.

"Back!" he shouted. "One at a time, and the order as I appoint! You, L'Ollonois, and you, and you," he cried, indicating certain men upon whom he could depend. "Go in succession. Then haul a heavier rope ashore. We'll put a traveler with a bo's'n's chair on it, and send these nuns and the priests first of all."

"Do we have to wait for a lot of wimmin and papists?" growled one man among the frightened rascals.

"You have to wait until the ship breaks up beneath your feet, if it is my pleasure," said Morgan, coolly, and they slunk back again, cowed. He was master of the situation once more.

There was something about that man that enforced obedience, whether they would or no. His orders were promptly obeyed and intelligently carried out by L'Ollonois and his men, who first went ashore. A heavy hawser was dragged through the surf and made fast high up on the sturdy palm tree. On it they rigged a traveler and the chair, and then the frightened nuns were brought forward from the cabin.

The women were sick with apprehension. They knew, of course, that the ship had struck, and they had been expecting instant death. Their prayers had been rudely interrupted by Morgan's messenger, and when they came out on deck in that stern tempest, amid that body of wild, ruthless men, their hearts sank within them. At the sight of those human fiends they would fain have welcomed that watery grave from which they had just been imploring God to save them. When they discovered that their only means of safety lay in making that perilous passage through the waters which overwhelmed the bight of rope in which hung the boatswain's chair, they counted themselves as dead. Indeed, they would have refused to go had it not been for the calm and heroic resolution of the abbess, their leader, Sister Maria Christina, who strove to assuage their fears.

"Hornigold," said Morgan, "are you still faithful to me in this crisis?"

"I shall obey you in all things—now," answered the boatswain.

"Swear it."

"By the old buccaneer faith," said the One-Eyed, again adding the significant adverb, "now."

For a wonder, the captain paid no attention to the emphasis on the word, "now."

"Can you keep your pistols dry?"

"I can wrap them in oilskin and thrust them in my jacket."

"Go to the shore, then," said Morgan, "and receive these women. March them away from the men to yonder clump of palms, and guard them as you would your life. If any man approach you or them for any purpose, shoot him dead without a word. I'll see that the others have no weapons. D'ye understand?"

"Ay, and shall obey."

"Go!"

The boatswain swung himself into the chair and the men on the other end of the traveler pulled him to the other shore, none the worse for his wetting. He opened his jacket, found the weapons dry, and waved his hand as a sign to Morgan that he was all right.

"Which of you women will go first?" asked Morgan.

He turned instinctively to the tall abbess, towering among her shrinking sisters. She indicated first one and then another among the poor captives, and as they refused, she turned to Morgan and, with a grave dignity, said in Spanish, of which he was a master, that she would go first to show the way, and then the others would be in better heart to follow. She sat down on the boatswain's chair—which, was simply a bit of wood held like the seat of a swing in a triangle of rope—made the sign of the cross, and waved her hand. She was hauled ashore in an instant with nothing worse to complain of than a drenching by the waves. By Hornigold's direction she walked past him toward the clump of palms which Morgan had indicated.

One after another of the women were sent forward until the whole party was ashore. Then the Spanish priests took their turn, and after these reached the sand the rest of the crew were sent ashore. Morgan was careful to indicate each one's turn, so that he preserved a balance between the more reputable and the more degraded members of the crew, both on ship and shore. Among the last to go were the maroon and de Lussan, each armed as Hornigold had been. They had both received instructions, one to station himself at the palm tree, the other to cover the hawser where it ran along the shore before it entered the water. These precautionary orders which he had given were necessary, for when the last man had been hauled ashore and Morgan stepped into the chair for his turn, one of the infuriated buccaneers, watching his chance, seized his jack-knife, the only weapon that he had, for Morgan had been careful to make the men leave their arms on the ship, and made a rush for the rope to cut it and leave the captain to his fate. But de Lussan shot him dead, and before the others could make a move Morgan stepped safely on the sand.

"That was well done," he cried, turning to the Frenchman.

"Ah, mon capitaine," answered the other, "it was not from affection, but because you are necessary to us."

"Whatever it may be," returned the old man, "I owe much to you and scuttle me, I'll not forget it."

The Frenchman, indifferent to Morgan's expressions of gratitude, shrugged his shoulders, turned away, and made no reply.

The transportation of so many people across the slender line had taken a long time. The sun, just beginning to break through the riven clouds, was near its setting; night would soon be upon them. They must hurry with what was yet to be done. Morgan sent Teach and the Brazilian back to the ship with instructions to gather up enough weapons to arm the crew and to send them ashore. This was promptly done. Indeed, communication was not difficult now that the force of the gale was abating. The ship had been badly battered but still held together, and would hold unless the storm came up again. As the arms came ashore Morgan served them out to those men whom he considered most reliable; and, after throwing out a strong guard around the band, the rest sought shelter around huge driftwood fires which had been kindled by the use of flint and steel. There was hardly a possibility they would be observed in that deserted land, but still it was wise to take precaution.

Morgan ordered the women and priests to be double-guarded by the trustiest, and it was well that he did so. He gave old Hornigold particular charge of them. The buccaneers were hungry and thirsty, but they were forced to do without everything until morning when they could get all they wanted from the ship. So they tightened their belts and disposed themselves about the fires as best they could to get what rest they might.



Morgan and the officers drew apart and consulted long and earnestly over the situation. They could never make the ship seaworthy again. To build a smaller one out of her timbers would be the work of months and when it was finished it could not possibly carry the whole crew. To march westward toward the Isthmus meant to encounter terrific hardships for days; their presence would speedily become known, and they would be constantly menaced or attacked by troops from the heavily garrisoned places like Porto Bello and Carthagena. Back of them a short distance away lay La Guayra. It could be taken by surprise, Morgan urged, and easily captured. If they started to march westward the Indians would apprise the Spaniards of their presence, and they would have to fight their way to the Pacific. If they took La Guayra, then the Viceroy, with the treasure of his palace and the opulent city of Caracas would be at their mercy. They could ravage the two towns, seize the first ship that came to the roadstead, and make their way to the Isthmus safely and speedily. As to the treasure on the galleon, the buccaneer captain proposed to unload it and bury it in the sand, and after they had captured La Guayra it would be easy to get it back again.

Morgan's counsel prevailed, and his was the resolution to which they came. The council of war broke up thereafter, and those not told off to watch with the guards went to sleep near the fires. Morgan, under the guardianship of the faithful Black Dog, threw himself upon the ground to catch a few hours' rest.

The next morning the wind had died away and the sea was fairly calm. The men swam out to the galleon, found her still intact though badly strained, and by means of boats and rafts, working with persistent energy, succeeded in landing and burying the treasure under the very palm tree which held the rope that had given them salvation.

Morgan's plan was an excellent one, the best that could be suggested in the straits they then were, and it received the hearty assent of all the men. It took them all day to land the treasure and make their other preparations, which included the manufacture of several rude scaling ladders, pieces of timber with cross pieces nailed upon them, which could be used in surmounting the walls of the town. In the evening the order of march was arranged and their departure set for the morrow. They had saved their treasure, they had food in plenty now, and with dry clothes and much rum they began to take a more cheerful view of life. They were fairly content once more.

The next day, in the afternoon, for he desired to approach the town at nightfall, Morgan gave the order to advance. He was as much of a soldier as a sailor and sent ahead a party of choice spirits under Teach, while the main body followed some distance behind. As the shades of evening descended a messenger from the advance guard came back with the news that a party of travelers had been seen coming down the mountain; that they comprised a half-dozen troopers, a number of slaves, a heavily laden pack train, and two women.

Teach had stationed his men under the trees at a bend of the road around which the travelers had to pass, and he awaited Morgan's orders. Taking a detachment of the most reliable men with Velsers and Hornigold, and bidding the other officers and men to stand where they were until he sent word, Morgan and those with him ran rapidly forward until they came to the ambuscade which young Teach had artfully prepared. He and his had scarcely time to dispose themselves for concealment before a soldier came riding carelessly down the road. Waiting until the man had passed him a short distance and until the other unsuspicious travelers were fairly abreast the liers-in-wait, whom he had charged on no account to move until he gave the word, Morgan stepped out into the open and called. The buccaneers instantly followed him.

As the soldier saw these fierce looking men spring before him out of the darkness, he cried aloud. The next moment he was shot dead by Morgan himself. At the same instant a volley rang out at contact range, and every man in the party fell to the ground. Some were killed, others only wounded; all of them except Alvarado were injured in some way. He struck spurs into his horse when he heard the cry of Fadrique and the shot. The surprised barb plunged forward, was hit by half a dozen bullets, fell to the ground in a heap, and threw his rider over his head. The Spaniard scrambled to his feet, whipped out his sword, lunged forward and drove his blade into the breast of old Velsers. The next instant a dozen weapons flashed over his head. One rang upon his steel casque, another crashed against the polished breastplate that he wore. He cut out again in the darkness, and once more fleshed his weapon.

Women's screams rose above the tumult. Beating back the swords which menaced him, although he was reeling from the blows which he had received, Alvarado strove to make his way toward Donna Mercedes, when he was seized in the darkness from behind.

"Kill him!" cried a voice in English, which Alvarado and Mercedes both understood perfectly. "He's the only one alive."

"Nay," cried another voice, stronger and sterner, "save him; we'll question him later. Did any escape?"

"Not one."

"Are there any horses alive?"

"Two or three."

"Bring them hither. Now back to the rest. Then we can show a light and see what we have captured. Teach, lead on. Let no harm come to the women."

"Ay, ay," answered another voice out of the darkness, and a third voice growled out:

"Hadn't we better make sure that none are alive to tell the tale?"

"Of course; a knife for the wounded," answered the stern voice, "and bear a hand."

Greatly surprised and unable to comprehend anything but that his men had been slaughtered and no harm had as yet befallen his charges, Alvarado, whose arms had been bound to his side, found himself dragged along in the wake of his captors, one or two of whom mounted on the unwounded horses, with the two women between them, rode rapidly down the road.



CHAPTER XV

TELLS HOW MERCEDES DE LARA RETURNED THE UNSOUGHT CARESS OF SIR HENRY MORGAN, AND THE MEANS BY WHICH THE BUCCANEERS SURMOUNTED THE WALLS

One hundred yards or so beyond the place of the ambush the road dropped sharply over the last low cliff to the narrow strand which led to the west wall of La Guayra, distant a half a mile away. They had all been under the deep shadow of the thick trees overhanging the way until this instant, but in the faint light cast by the moon just risen, Alvarado could see that a great body of people were congregated before him on the road. Who they were and what they were he could not surmise. He was not long left in doubt, however, for the same voice whose commanding tones had caused his life to be spared, now called for lights. The demand was obeyed with a promptness that bespoke fear indeed, or discipline of the sternest, and soon the captives found themselves in a circle of lurid light sent forth by a number of blazing torches.

The illumination revealed to Alvarado as villainous and terrible-looking a body of men as he had ever seen. The first glance convinced him that they were not Spanish brigands or robbers. He was too young to have had dealings with the buccaneers of the past generation, but he realized that if any such remained on this side of the earth, they must be like these men who surrounded him. He wasted no time in surmises, however, for after the first swift comprehensive glance his eyes sought Mercedes. She sat her horse free and uninjured apparently, for which he thanked God. She was leaning forward over her saddle and staring in bewilderment and surprise at the scene and confusion before her.

"Donna Mercedes," cried Alvarado, turning himself about, in spite of his bonds and the restraint his immediate captors endeavored to put upon him, "are you safe—unhurt?"

"Safe," answered the girl, "and thou?"

"Well, but for these bonds."

"God be thanked! Who are these men?"

"I know not, but——"

"Oh, sir," interrupted Senora Agapida, recovering her voice at the sound of the Spanish tongue, "for Christ's sake, what does this mean? Save us!"

"Senora," said that same sharp voice, but this time speaking in the Spanish tongue, as a tall man, hat in hand, urged his horse forward, "fear nothing, you shall be protected. And you, senorita. Do I not have the honor of addressing Donna Mercedes de Lara?"

"That is my name," answered the girl, haughtily. "Who are you? Why have you shot my people and seized me prisoner?"

"For love of you, Mistress Mercedes."

"Just heaven! Who are you, I say!" cried the girl at this startling answer, turning in surprise and terror to look upon his countenance.

There was something familiar in the man's face that called up a vague recollection which she strove to master.

"Who are you?" she cried again.

"Sir Harry Morgan!" answered the horseman, bowing low over the saddle, "a free sailor at your service, ma'am."

"My God!" cried Alvarado, who had listened attentively, "the buccaneer?"

"The same," answered Morgan turning to him.

"Sir Harry Morgan! Were you not Governor of Jamaica last year?" asked Mercedes in astonishment.

"I had that honor, lady."

"Why are you now in arms against us?"

"A new king, Mistress de Lara, sits the English throne. He likes me not. I and these gallant seamen are going to establish a kingdom in some sweet island in the South Seas, with our good swords. I would fain have a woman to bear me company on the throne. Since I saw you in Jamaica last year, I have designed you for the honor——"

"Monster!" screamed the girl, appalled by the hideous leer which accompanied his words. "Rather anything——"

"Sir," interrupted Alvarado, "you are an Englishman. Your past rank should warrant you a gentleman, but for this. There is no war between England and Spain. What is the meaning of this outrage? This lady is the daughter of the Viceroy of Venezuela. I am his captain and the commandante of yonder city of La Guayra. You have waylaid us, taken us at a disadvantage. My men are killed. For this assault His Excellency will exact bloody reparation. Meanwhile give order that we be unbound, and let us pass."

"Ho, ho!" laughed the buccaneer. "Think you I fear the Viceroy? Nay, not His Majesty of Spain himself! I came here with set purpose to take La Guayra and then Caracas, and to bear away with me this pretty lady upon whom, I repeat, I design to bestow the honor of my name."

As he spoke he leaned toward Mercedes, threw his arm around her waist, and before she was even aware of her intention, kissed her roughly on the cheek.

"Lads," he cried, "three cheers for the future Lady Morgan!"

The proud Spanish girl turned white as death under this insult. Her eyes flashed like coals of fire. Morgan was close beside her. She was without weapon save a jeweled whip that hung at her wrist. Before the first note of a cheer could break from the lips of the men she lifted it and struck him violently again and again full in the face.

"Thou devil!" cried the captain in fury, whipping out his sword and menacing her with it.

"Strike!" cried Mercedes bravely, "and let my blood wash out the insult that you have put upon my cheek."

She raised her whip once more, but this time young Teach, coming on the other side, caught her hand, wrested the jeweled toy from her, and broke it in the struggle.

"Thou shalt pay dearly for those stripes, lady!" roared Morgan, swerving closer to her. "And not now in honorable wedlock——"

"I will die first!" returned Mercedes.

Alvarado, meanwhile, had been struggling desperately to free himself. By the exercise of superhuman strength, just as Morgan again menaced the woman he loved, he succeeded in freeing himself from his loosely-tied bonds. His guards for the moment had their attention distracted from him by the group on horseback. He wrenched a sword from the hand of one, striking him a blow with his naked fist that sent him reeling as he did so, and then flung out his other arm so that the heavy pommel of the sword struck the second guard in the face, and the way was clear for the moment. He sprang forward instantly, seized Morgan's horse, forced him away from Mercedes by a wrench of his powerful arm, and stood at bay in front of the woman he loved. He said no word but stood with his sword up on guard, panting heavily from his fierce exertions.

"Alvarado, you will be killed!" screamed the girl, seeing the others make for him.

"Here we have it," sneered Morgan. "This is the secret of your refusal. He is your lover."

"Seize him!" cried Teach, raising his sword, as followed by the others he made at Alvarado, who awaited them undaunted.

"Stay!" shouted de Lussan, "there is a better way."

Rudely shoving Senora Agapida aside, he seized Mercedes from behind.

"Do not move, mademoiselle," he said in French, in his excitement, which fortunately she understood.

"That's well done!" cried Morgan, "Captain Alvarado, if that be your name, throw down your sword if you would save the lady's life."

"Mind me not, Alvarado," cried Mercedes, but Alvarado, perceiving the situation, instantly dropped his weapon.

"Now seize him and bind him again! And you, dogs!" Morgan added, turning to the men who had allowed the prisoner to slip before, "if he escape you again you shall be hanged to the nearest tree!"

"Hadst not better bind the woman, too?" queried the Frenchman gently, still holding her fast in his fierce grasp.

"Ay, the wench as well. Oh, I'll break your spirit, my pretty one," answered Morgan savagely, flipping the young woman's cheek. "Wilt pay me blows for kisses? Scuttle me, you shall crawl at my feet before I've finished with you!"

"Why not kill this caballero out of hand, captain?" asked Hornigold, savage from a slight wound, as he limped up to Morgan.

"No, I have use for him. Are the rest silent?"

"They will tell no tales," laughed L'Ollonois grimly.

"Did none escape back up the road?"

"None, Sir Henry," answered the other. "My men closed in after them and drove them forward. They are all gone."

"That's well. Now, for La Guayra. What force is there, Senor Capitan?"

Alvarado remained obstinately silent. He did not speak even when Morgan ruthlessly cut him across the cheek with his dagger. He did not utter a sound, although Mercedes groaned in anguish at the sight of his torture.

"You'd best kill him, captain," said L'Ollonois.

"No, I have need for him, I say," answered Morgan, giving over the attempt to make him speak. "Is any one here who has been at La Guayra recently?" he asked of the others.

"I was there last year on a trading ship of France," answered Sawkins.

"What garrison then?"

"About two hundred and fifty."

"Was it well fortified?"

"As of old, sir, by the forts on either side and a rampart along the sea wall."

"Were the forts in good repair?"

"Well kept indeed, but most of the guns bore seaward."

"Have you the ladders ready?" cried Morgan to Braziliano, who had been charged to convey the rude scaling ladders by which they hoped to get over the walls.

"All ready, captain," answered that worthy.

"Let us go forward then. We'll halt just out of musket-shot and concert our further plans. We have the Governor in our hands, lads. The rest will be easy. There is plenty of plunder in La Guayra, and when we have made it our own we'll over the mountains and into Caracas. Hornigold, you are lame from a wound, look to the prisoners."

"To La Guayra! To La Guayra!" enthusiastically shouted the men, taking up the line of march.

The rising moon flooding the white strand made the scene as light as day. They kept good watch on the walls of La Guayra, for the sound of the shots in the night air had been heard by some keen-eared sentry, and as a result the garrison had been called to arms. The firing had been too heavy to be accounted for by any ordinary circumstances, and officers and soldiers had been at a loss to understand it. However, to take precautions were wise, and every preparation was made as if against an immediate attack. The drums were beaten; the ramparts were manned; the guns were primed, and such of the townspeople as were not too timid to bear arms were assembled under their militia officers.

The watchers on the west wall of the fort were soon aware of the approach of the buccaneers. Indeed, they made no concealment whatever about their motions. Who they were and what they were the garrison had not discovered and could not imagine. A prompt and well-aimed volley, however, as soon as the buccaneers came within range apprised them that they were dealing with enemies, and determined enemies at that. Under cover of the confusion caused by this unexpected discharge, Morgan deployed his men.

"Lads," he said, "we'll board yon fort with a rush and a cheer. The ladders will be placed on the walls, and under cover of a heavy fire from our musketry we'll go over them. Use only the cutlass when you gain the parapet and ply like men. Remember what's on the other side!"

"Ay, but who'll plant the ladders?" asked one.

"The priests and women," said Morgan grimly. "I saved them for that."

A roar of laughter and cheers broke from the ruffianly gang as they appreciated the neatness of the old buccaneer's scheme.

"'Tis an old trick," he continued; "we did the same thing thirty years since at Porto Bello. Eh, Hornigold? How's that leg of yours?"

"Stiff and sore."

"Bide here then with the musketeers. Teach, you shall take the walls under the cliff yonder. L'Ollonois, lead your men straight at the fort. De Lussan, let the curtain between be your point. I shall be with the first to get over. Now, charge your pieces all, and Hornigold, after we have started, by slow and careful fire do you keep the Spaniards down until you hear us cheer. After that, hold your fire."

"But I should like to be in the first rank myself, master," growled the old boatswain.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Morgan, "that's a right spirit, lad, but that cut leg holds you back, for which you have to thank this gentleman," bowing toward Alvarado with a hideous countenance. "You can be of service here. Watch the musketeers. We would have no firing into our backs. Now bring up the women and priests. And, Hornigold, watch Senorita de Lara. See that she does not escape. On your life, man; I'd rather hold her safe," he muttered under his breath, "than take the whole city of Caracas."

With shouts of fiendish glee the buccaneers drove the hapless nuns and priests, who had been dragged along in the rear, to the front. The Spaniards were firing at them now, but with no effect so far. The distance was great and the moonlight made aim uncertain, and every time a head showed itself over the battlement it became a target for the fire of the musketeers, who, by Hornigold's orders, ran forward under the black shadow cast by the high cliff, where they could not be seen, and from this point of concealment, taking deliberate aim, made havoc among the defenders.

"Now, good fathers and sisters," began Morgan, "you have doubtless been curious to know why you were not put to death. I saved you—not because I loved you, but because I needed you. I had a purpose in view; that purpose is now apparent."

"What would you with us, senor?" asked Sister Maria Christina, the abbess, stepping out in front of her sisters.

"A little service, my sister. Bring up the ladders, men. See, there are seven all told. That will be four ladies apiece to four ladders; and here are seven priests, which allows two to each of the three remaining ladders, with one priest and one sister over for good measure, and to take the place of any that may be struck down."

"And what are we to do with them, senor?" asked Fra Antonio de Las Casas, drawing nearer to the captain.

"You are to carry them to yonder wall and place them against it."

"You do not mean," burst out Alvarado painfully, for he could scarcely speak from his wounded cheek, "to make these holy women bear the brunt of that fire from the fort, and the good priests as well?"

"Do I value the lives of women and priests, accursed Spaniard, more than our own?" questioned the captain, and the congenial sentiment was received by a yell of approval from the men. "But if you are tender-hearted, I'll give the defenders a chance. Will you advise them to yield and thus spare these women?"

"I can not do that," answered Alvarado sadly. "'Tis their duty to defend the town. There are twenty women here, there are five hundred there."

"D'ye hear that, mates?" cried Morgan. "Up with the ladders!"

"But what if we refuse?" cried the abbess.

"You shall be given over to the men," answered Morgan, ferociously, "whereas, if you do as I order, you may go free; those who are left alive after the storm. Do ye hear, men? We'll let them go after they have served us," continued the chief turning to his men. "Swear that you will let them go! There are others in La Guayra."

"We swear, we swear!" shouted one after another, lifting their hands and brandishing their weapons.

"You hear!" cried Morgan. "Pick up the ladders!"

"For God's sake, sir——" began Maria Christina.

"I know no God," interrupted Morgan.

"You had a mother—a wife once—perhaps children, Senor Capitan. Unsay your words! We can not place the ladders which will give you access to yonder helpless town."

"Then to the men you go!" cried Morgan ruthlessly. "Forward here, two or three of you, take this woman! She chooses——"

"Death——" cried the abbess, snatching a dagger from the nearest hand and driving it into her breast, "rather than dishonor!"

She held herself proudly erect for a moment, swayed back and forth, and then fell prostrate upon the sand, the blood staining her white robe about the hilt of the poniard. She writhed and shuddered in agony where she lay, striving to say something. Fra Antonio sprang to her side, and before any one could interfere knelt down.

"I—I—I have sinned," she gasped. "Mercy, mercy!"

"Thou hast done well, I absolve thee!" cried the priest, making the sign of the cross upon her forehead.

"Death and fury!" shouted Morgan, livid with rage. "Let her die unshriven! Shall I be balked thus?"

He sprang toward the old man stooping over the woman, and struck him across his shaven crown with the blade of his sword. The priest pitched down instantly upon the body of the abbess, a long shudder running through him. Then he lay still.

"Harry Morgan's way!" cried the buccaneer, recovering his blade. "And you?" turning toward the other women. "Have you had lesson enough? Pick up those ladders, or by hell——"

"Mercy, mercy!" screamed the frightened nuns.

"Not another word! Drive them forward, men!"

The buccaneers sprang at the terrified women and priests, some with weapons out, others with leers and outstretched arms. First one and then another gave way. The only leadership among the sisters and priests lay upon the sand there. What could they do? They picked up the ladders and, urged forward by threats and shouts of the buccaneers under cover of a furious discharge from Hornigold's musketeers, they ran to the walls imploring the Spaniards not to fire upon them.

When the Spanish commander perceived who were approaching, with a mistaken impulse of mercy he ordered his men to fire over their heads, and so did little danger to the approaching buccaneers. A few of them fell, but the rest dashed into the smoke. There was no time for another discharge. The ladders were placed against the walls, and priests and nuns were ruthlessly cast aside and trampled down. In a little space the marauders were upon the ramparts fighting like demons. Morgan, covered by Black Dog, with Teach, de Lussan, and L'Ollonois, was in the lead. Truth to tell, the captain was never backward when fighting was going on. The desperate onslaught of their overwhelming numbers, once they had gained a foothold, swept the defenders before them like chaff. Waiting for nothing, they sprang down from the fort and raced madly through the narrow streets of the town. They brushed opposition away as leaves are driven aside by a winter storm. Ere the defenders on the east forts could realize their presence, they were upon them, also.

In half an hour every man bearing a weapon had been cut down. The town was at the mercy of this horde of human tigers. They broke open wine cellars; they pillaged the provision shops; they tortured without mercy the merchants and inhabitants to force them to discover their treasures, and they insulted and outraged the helpless women. They were completely beyond control now; drunk with slaughter, intoxicated with liquor, mad with lust, they ravaged and plundered. To add to the confusion, fire burst forth here and there, and before the morning dawned half of the city was in ashes.

The pale moon looked down upon a scene of horror such as it had never before shone upon, even in the palmiest days of the buccaneers.



CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD RECOGNIZES A CROSS, AND CAPTAIN ALVARADO FINDS AND LOSES A MOTHER ON THE STRAND

The musketeers under Hornigold, chosen for their mastery with the weapon, had played their parts with cunning skill.



Concealed from observation by the deep shadow of the cliffs, and therefore immune from the enemy's fire, they had made targets of the Spaniards on the walls, and by a close, rapid, and well-directed discharge, had kept down the return of the garrison until the very moment of the assault. Hornigold was able to keep them in hand for a little space after the capture of the town, but the thought of the pleasure being enjoyed by their comrades was too much for them. Anxious to take a hand in the hideous fray, they stole away one by one, slinking under the cliff until they were beyond the reach of the boatswain, then boldly rushing for the town in the open, until the old sailor was left with only a half-dozen of the most dependable surrounding himself and prisoners.

The rest would not have got away from him so easily had he not been so intensely occupied that at first he had taken little note of what was going on.

Mercedes and Alvarado had only opportunity to exchange a word now and then, for extended conversation was prevented by the guards. Alvarado strove to cheer the woman he loved, and she promised him she would choose instant death rather than dishonor. He could give her little encouragement of rescue, for unless word of their plight were carried to the Viceroy immediately, he would be far on the way to the Orinoco country before any tidings could reach him, and by the time he returned it would be too late.

Again and again Alvarado strove to break his bonds, in impotent and helpless fury, but this time he was securely bound and his captors only laughed at his struggles. In the midst of their grief and despair they both took notice of the poor abbess. Fra Antonio had not moved since Morgan had stricken him down, but there was life still in the woman, for, from where they stood, some distance back, the two lovers each marked her convulsive trembling. The sight appealed profoundly to them in spite of their perilous situation.

"The brave sister lives," whispered Mercedes.

"'Tis so," answered Alvarado. "Senor," he called, "the sister yonder is alive. Wilt not allow us to minister to her?"

"Nay," said Hornigold brusquely, "I will go myself. Back, all of ye!" he added. "She may wish to confess to me in default of the worthy father."

He leered hideously as he spoke.

"Coward!" cried Alvarado, but his words affected Hornigold not at all.

Before he could say another word the guards forced him rudely back with the two women. The worthy Senora Agapida by this time was in a state of complete and total collapse, but Mercedes bore herself—her lover marked with pleasure—as proudly and as resolutely as if she still stood within her father's palace surrounded by men who loved her and who would die for her.

Rolling the body of the prostrate old man aside, Hornigold knelt down on the white sand by the form of the sister. The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped over he scanned it with his one eye. A sudden flash of recognition came to him. With a muttered oath of surprise he looked again.

"It can't be!" he exclaimed, "and yet——"

After Fra Antonio's brave attempt at absolution, the woman had fainted. Now she opened her eyes, although she was not yet fully conscious.

"Water!" she gasped feebly, and as it chanced the boatswain had a small bottle of the precious fluid hanging from a strap over his shoulder. There was no pity in the heart of the pirate, he would have allowed the woman to die gasping for water without giving her a second thought, but when he recognized her—or thought he did—there instantly sprang into his mind a desire to make sure. If she were the person he thought her she might have information of value. Unslinging the bottle and pulling out the cork, he placed it to her lips.

"I—die," she murmured in a stronger voice. "A priest."

"There is none here," answered the boatswain. "Fra Antonio—he absolved you."

"Where is he?"

"Dead, yonder."

"But I must confess."

"Confess to me," chuckled the old man in ghastly mockery. "Many a woman has done so and——"

"Art in Holy Orders, senor?" muttered the woman.



"Holy enough for you. Say on."

"Fra Antonio, now," she continued, vacantly lapsing into semi-delirium, "he married us—'twas a secret—his rank was so great. He was rich, I poor—humble. The marriage lines—in the cross. There was a—What's that? A shot? The buccaneers. They are coming! Go not, Francisco!"

Hornigold, bending an attentive ear to these broken sentences lost not a word.

"Go not," she whispered, striving to lift an arm, "they will kill thee! Thou shalt not leave me alone, my Francisco—The boy—in Panama——"

It was evident to the sailor that the poor woman's mind had gone back to the dreadful days of the sack of Panama. He was right then, it was she.

"The boy—save him, save him!" she cried suddenly with astonishing vigor. The sound of her own voice seemed to recall her to herself. She stopped, her eyes lost their wild glare and fixed themselves upon the man above her, his own face in the shadow as hers was in the light.

"Is it Panama?" she asked. "Those screams—the shots—" She turned her head toward the city. "The flames—is it Panama?"

"Nay," answered the one-eyed fiercely. "'Tis twenty-five years since then, and more. Yonder city is La Guayra. This is the coast of Venezuela."

"Oh—the doomed town—I remember—now—I stabbed myself rather than—place the ladders. Who art thou, senor?"

"Benjamin Hornigold!" cried the man fiercely, bending his face to hers.

For a second the woman stared at him. Then, recognizing him, she screamed horribly, raising herself upon her arm.

"Hornigold!" she cried. "What have you done with the child?"

"I left him at Cuchillo, outside the walls," answered the man.

"And the cross?"

"On his breast. The Captain——"

"The marriage lines were there. You betrayed me. May God's curse—nay, I die. For Christ's sake—I forgive—Francisco, Francisco."

She fell back gasping on the sand. He tore the enclosing coif from her face. In a vain effort to hold back death's hand for another second, Hornigold snatched a spirit flask from his belt and strove to force a drop between her lips. It was too late. She was gone. He knew the signs too well. He laid her back on the sand, exclaiming:

"Curse her! Why couldn't she have lived a moment longer? The Captain's brat—and she might have told me. Bring up the prisoners!" he cried to the guards, who had moved them out of earshot of this strange conversation.

"The cross," he muttered, "the marriage lines therein. The only clew. And yet she cried 'Francisco.' That was the name. Who is he? If I could find that cross. I'd know it among a thousand. Hither," he called to the prisoners slowly approaching.

"The good sister?" queried Alvarado.

"Dead."

As the young soldier, with an ejaculation of pity, bent forward in the moonlight to look upon the face of the dead woman, from his torn doublet a silver crucifix suddenly swung before the eyes of the old buccaneer.

"By heaven!" he cried. "'Tis the cross."

He stepped nearer to Alvarado, seized the carven crucifix, and lifted it to the light.

"I could swear it was the same," he muttered. "Senor, your name and rank?"

"I can not conceive that either concerns a bloodthirsty ruffian like——"

"Stop! Perhaps there is more in this than thou thinkest," said Mercedes. "Tell him, Alvarado. It can do no harm. Oh, senor, have pity on us! Unbind me," she added, "I give you my word. I wish but to pay my respect to the woman yonder."

"She gives good counsel, soldier," answered the boatswain. "Cut her lashing," he said to the sailor who guarded them.

As the buccaneer did so, Mercedes sank on her knees by the side of the dead woman.

"Now, sir, your name?" asked Hornigold again.

"Alvarado."

"Where got you that name?"

"It was given me by His Excellency, the Viceroy."

"And wherefore?"

There was something so tremendous in Hornigold's interest that in spite of himself the young man felt compelled to answer.

"It was his pleasure."

"Had you not a name of your own?"

"None that I know of."

"What mean you?"

"I was found, a baby, outside the walls of Panama in a little village. The Viceroy adopted me and brought me up. That is all."

"When was this?" asked Hornigold.

"After the sack of Panama. And the name of the village was——"

"Cuchillo——" interrupted Hornigold triumphantly.

"My God, senor, how know you that?"

"I was there."

"You were there?" cried the young man.

"Ay."

"For love of heaven, can you tell me who I am, what I am?"

"In good time, young sir, and for a price. At present I know but one thing."

"That is——"

"There lies your mother," answered the buccaneer slowly, pointing to the white figure on the sand.

"My mother! Madre de Dios!" cried Alvarado, stepping forward and looking down upon the upturned face with its closely cut white hair, showing beautiful in the moonlight. "God rest her soul, she hath a lovely face and died in defence of her honor like the gentlewoman she should be. My mother—how know you this?"

"In the sack of Panama a woman gave me a male child, and for money I agreed to take it and leave it in a safe and secluded spot outside the city walls. I carried it at the hazard of my life as far as Cuchillo and there left it."

"But how know you that the child you left is I?"

"Around the baby's neck the mother, ere she gave him to me, placed this curious cross you wear. 'Tis of such cunning workmanship that there is naught like it under the sun that ever I have seen. I knew it even in the faint light when my eyes fell upon it. I left the child with a peasant woman to take him where I had been directed. I believed him safe. On leaving Panama that village lay in our backward path. We burned it down. I saw the baby again. Because I had been well paid I saved him from instant death at the hands of the buccaneers, who would have tossed him in the air on the point of their spears. I shoved the crucifix, which would have tempted them because it was silver, underneath the dress and left the child. He was alive when we departed."

"And the day after," cried Alvarado, "de Lara's troops came through that village and found me still wearing that cross. My mother! Loving God, can it be? But my father——"

"What shall I have if I tell you?"

"Riches, wealth, all—Set us free and——"

"Not now. I can not now. Wait."

"At least, Donna Mercedes."

"Man, 'twould be my life that would pay; but I'll keep careful watch over her. I have yet some influence with the Captain. To-morrow I'll find a way to free you—you must do the rest."

"Mercedes," said Alvarado, "heardst thou all?"

"But little," answered the girl.

"That lady—is believed to have been my mother!"

"Gentle or simple," said the girl, "she died in defence of her honor, like the noblest, the best. This for thee, good sister," she whispered, bending down and kissing the pale forehead. "And may I do the like when my time comes. Thou shouldst be proud of her, my Alvarado," she said, looking up at him. "See!" she cried suddenly as the resemblance, which was indeed strong between them, struck her. "Thou hast her face. Her white hair was once golden like thine. He tells the truth. Oh, sir, for Christ's sake, have pity upon us!"